


a little bit of moniker in my life

by fractalgeometry



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Communication, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Other, Pet Names, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28936836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalgeometry/pseuds/fractalgeometry
Summary: Aziraphale’s life changed, after the world didn’t end. It changed in countless good ways, and a few that he didn’t feel up to analyzing. He was happy, and he was free, and it was good.In fact, there was only one change that Aziraphale could fairly confidently say he didn’t like. It was small, minuscule on the scale of things that actually mattered in life, and Aziraphale didn’t even notice at first. Once he did, he couldn’t stop noticing it.Crowley stopped calling him “angel”.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 200





	a little bit of moniker in my life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nenchen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenchen/gifts).



Aziraphale’s life changed, after the world didn’t end. It changed in countless good ways, and a few that he didn’t feel up to analyzing. He was happy, and he was free, and it was good. 

In fact, there was only one change that Aziraphale could fairly confidently say he didn’t like. It was small, minuscule on the scale of things that actually mattered in life, and Aziraphale didn’t even notice at first. Once he did, he couldn’t  _ stop _ noticing it. 

Crowley stopped calling him “angel”. 

It was a foolish thing to be upset over, Aziraphale knew. Crowley clearly still enjoyed being around him, displayed that fact at every opportunity. Opportunities that were far more common now than they had been in the past, and wasn’t  _ that _ a change for the good list. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like hearing Crowley say his name, either. On the contrary, Aziraphale liked his name, and he liked Crowley, and he was happy to put the two together. It was only that he had gotten very used to hearing both monikers come out of Crowley’s mouth, seemingly at random, such that Aziraphale never knew which it would be. The sudden change to exclusively “Aziraphale” was...jarring. 

At first he thought he was imagining it. He was so used to hearing Crowley call him “angel”, he was more than likely not consciously noticing it.

After several months of paying attention, he determined that no, Crowley may as well have cut the word entirely from his vocabulary for all Aziraphale heard him say it. Then he wondered if Crowley hadn’t noticed, if it was just a normal variation and Aziraphale had never bothered paying enough attention to notice before. 

A year, without a single “angel” reaching his ears, full of the affection and caring that Crowley always imbued it with. Not that Crowley wasn’t being affectionate. On the contrary, their newfound freedom was bringing them progressively closer and closer. The feelings that had previously been mostly confined to the tone of a few words were — cautiously, and then faster and faster — spilling out, running into all the words they said to each other, their smiles, the way they had cautiously begun to catch each other’s hands in passing, sit beside each other...into all the things they did.

No, Crowley was happy to be with Aziraphale, and vice versa. Aziraphale didn’t doubt that for even a moment. It was only that...in the whirlwind of change, of open affection and joyful meals together and ever-lessening fear, Aziraphale missed that one symbol of affection that, while smaller than nearly all the others, had lasted them so long.

A year and a half after the world didn’t end, he asked about it. 

They were walking through the park, close enough that their hands might brush on a particularly close swing, moving with the kind of easy synchronization born of taking many walks just like this. Crowley had just said, “Look at the humans all glued to their phones, Aziraphale,” or something of the sort, and Aziraphale’s curiosity overflowed. 

“Crowley,” he said. “Why don’t you ever call me ‘angel’ anymore?"

Crowley stopped walking. His shoulders tensed. His face tensed. He looked away, and Aziraphale felt very suddenly that this was not something he should have brought up.

“It’s not important,” he said quickly. “Just curious. You don’t-”

Crowley made a disgruntled noise. “No, you’re right, it’s just-”

They both stopped talking. 

Crowley made another noise, frustrated — frustrated with  _ himself, _ Aziraphale thought — and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand. By the time Aziraphale had blinked, they were in the bookshop. And before he had time to marvel at that fact — teleporting wasn’t easy, though going from the park to the bookshop would probably be one of the easiest trips for Crowley to make — Crowley had let go of his hand and somewhat awkwardly leaned against one of the pillars, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do now that he was here. He still looked hunted, like he’d rather be making a beeline for the door.

Aziraphale got the impression that whatever box of thoughts and decisions he had just opened, it was much more complicated than he had expected.

“Crowley,” he said carefully. “You don’t need to talk about anything you don’t want to. I didn’t think- I didn’t realize-”

“It’s not your fault,” Crowley interrupted suddenly. “It’s just that since the whole thing last year-” he waved a hand vaguely- “it’s felt like maybe you could- I could- you’d be-” he sighed and seemed to give up.

Aziraphale stepped forward carefully, hand extended. Offering comfort, trying not to push it.

“We can,” he murmured. “I will.”

Crowley looked at the hand waiting in midair. “I know. Now. Usually. But…”

Aziraphale waited. 

“When I started to call you that,” Crowley said, low and honest, “it was to remind myself who you belonged to. And that wasn’t me.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, feeling hundreds of years of nicknames settle into new clarity. “Oh. Crowley.”

Crowley shrugged. “So I guess last year, when I  _ could _ have you…”

“You stopped reminding yourself that you couldn’t,” Aziraphale finished. “I understand.”

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” Crowley said. He finally took Aziraphale’s hand.

“If you’d heard the way you said it,” Aziraphale said, leading them to the sofa, “you would have noticed too.”

Crowley laughed, settling in next to Aziraphale in that wonderful, close way that they did now. “I guess I most needed the reminder when I was already thinking about how much I liked you.”

“I always loved hearing you say it,” Aziraphale said. “It made me feel like you cared, back when neither of us showed it.”

“I’m sorry I stopped,” Crowley said. “I never wanted to take something good from you.”

“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale said. “I would never want you to continue doing something that isn’t good for  _ you. _ And there are so many other ways you show me now.”

Crowley  _ hmm _ ed, and Aziraphale squeezed him gently around the shoulders. “There  _ are,” _ he repeated.

“I know,” Crowley said. “But you have to know, it’s not that I don’t want you to be an angel. You should always be an angel. It’s just that in my head, angels belonged to Heaven. And I’m only just really starting to believe that I get to have you after all.”

“I never knew any of that,” Aziraphale said.

“Yeah, well.” Crowley shrugged, and after a stretch of silence Aziraphale decided that it looked as though the conversation was over for the time being.

Now that he was on the inside of Crowley’s thinking on the topic, he thought he wouldn’t even be  _ too _ sad if it was over for good. He didn’t want there to be anything,  _ anything _ making Crowley question Aziraphale’s devotion to him any longer.

~

Aziraphale rather expected that would be the end of it. Crowley continued to call him “Aziraphale”, somehow managing to imbue the name with progressively more and more affection, and they continued their fascinating, wonderful experiment with being free. 

Then one day, as they sat on a comfortable dark rug that had miraculously appeared in Crowley’s living room some months previously, Crowley asked, “How about ‘bookworm’?”

Aziraphale blinked, resting his arm on the seat of the chair he was leaning against. “I’m sorry?”

“For me to call you,” Crowley clarified. “It’s accurate. Although I wonder if it needs a slight adjustment.”

Aziraphale rolled the word around in his head. “I could see it,” he said finally.

Crowley was watching him thoughtfully, chin resting on his hands. “You’re not a worm, though. Definitely not a worm. You fly. Like sunshine.”

“I fly like sunshine?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “You know what I mean.

Aziraphale didn’t entirely, but he decided it wasn’t important. Instead he said, “Some worms fly.”

“No they don’t. They’re  _ worms." _

“Silkworms,” Aziraphale said decisively. “They grow up to have wings.”

“So you’re saying you like ‘bookworm’?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said. “Based on my understanding of how the phrase is typically used, I qualify. Try it.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and smiled fondly, still flopped on the floor. “Hey, bookworm.”

A pleased feeling rolled through Aziraphale’s chest. He smiled back. “Hello, my dear.”

Crowley smirked. “Want to come back to my place, bookworm?”

“I am  _ at _ ‘your place’, Crowley.”

“Well would you look at that,” Crowley said, and rolled across the floor to settle his head in Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale settled a hand on Crowley’s chest, smiling down at his favorite being in the world.

It wasn’t “angel”. It didn’t have the years of history behind it, the memories. But it was  _ theirs, _ and sometimes that was the most important thing. 

When, some months later, Crowley said he missed the old nickname too, Aziraphale pointed out he could use them both, whatever felt better at the time. 

The first time Crowley said, “my angel”, Aziraphale couldn’t speak for nearly a minute, but his smile kept Crowley from worrying.

Language, Aziraphale knew, always evolved. It was one of the most fascinating things about it. And he thought that small evolutions like this might be the most wonderful of all.

**Author's Note:**

> This was an interesting one to me, because I'm quite partial to Crowley calling Aziraphale "angel", and have and will continue to use it in my fics. But I heard this idea and really wanted to try exploring it. I hope you enjoyed - drop me a comment with any thoughts!


End file.
